


Wasabi of the Heart

by mimzy630



Category: AI: The Somnium Files (Video Game)
Genre: Dark hints, F/M, How They Met, I made up the backstory they didn't have, a little sad, happy birthday best dad, historial, i love them, the importance of cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimzy630/pseuds/mimzy630
Summary: Takero thinks about his family and love of cooking as he works himself ragged at a fishery warehouse.
Relationships: Matsushita Mayumi/Matushita Takero
Kudos: 8





	Wasabi of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Takero Matsushita 02/15/2020, thanks for being such a supportive dad.

Sometimes, I think the worst decision I made in my life was opening that diner. That quaint little diner that sits right across the divide from Bloom Park- that little wooden mark Mayumi and I placed on this world... sometimes, it’s my biggest regret. Sometimes, I wonder... if I wasn’t so particular about serving my customers the best food, maybe I could have stayed there longer. Maybe, I wouldn’t have had to make Mayumi work so hard, and maybe Ota’s college could be paid for without worry.

But... when I return home and see those two pairs of slippers in front of the swinging door, I know it was all worth it. As my Mayumi rounds the corner with a smile on her face and calls out “welcome home” quietly, I know the risk, the work, are all... worth it. Even though we don’t get customers at the diner anymore, seeing all those delighted faces was... worth it.

“Get back to work, Matsushita!”

I brace my back as I go to pick up more heavy crates. Though I love fishing itself, working in a fishing warehouse is far from similar; the relaxing atmosphere of fishing is replaced by piles of scaly corpses and back-breaking labour... still, if it keeps my family afloat, I can’t complain. Even when the foreman yells at me, it’s only because my old joints are slowing, and I can’t help but let my mind wander to distract from the pain.

The lid on the crate in front of me slips off a bit, and I see myriad bluefin tuna inside. As I reseal it, memories resurface; like bubbles in the ocean of my brain, they make their way to the surface and demand attention with soft ‘pops.’ My parents could never have imagined crates full of expensive tuna like this. Having been raised during the years of the Great Depression, they had learned such extreme frugality that, even once we were living comfortably, they’d still ration my rice. “You never know when it’ll happen again,” they said, as they kept me eating tubers and stockpiling rice. As I grew, I came to want more tastes, and despite their wishes, went off on my own to become a chef. Working two jobs and going to culinary school, I managed to get certificates and use ingredients my parents would never approve of.

In culinary school, I took every opportunity I could to use expensive ingredients; I made wonderful fugu dishes and even impressed by instructors with my use of caviar. Going out of college, I was originally planning on becoming a renowned chef; I had the recommendations of my instructors and enough money from scholarships to afford cooking expensive dishes with quality ingredients and utensils to impress high-end restaurants. But... then I met her.

Mayumi was a plain, simple girl back in the day. Her parents were fairly strict treaty-deniers, but she found herself in love with American culture. She’d often sneak to movies with friends just to taste a bit of their culture... she said it opened up her world to so many new puns! Yet, she’d always dress traditionally at school, and it was only when we were alone that she’d find a bathroom to change into her ‘fun’ clothes- usually something colorful, wildly patterned and with some English writing on the front. Even now, though the scorn from her parents and resulting rebelliousness is long gone, she’s still fond of bright colors and wild patterns. Polka dots are her favorite; though she loves tie-dye and stripes, she says they’re circular and friendly, just like her. It may not seem fitting for such an old mother, but she always says that no one can complain to an elder.

Of course, she wasn’t always an elder; back when she was young, I remember her citing Yayoi Kusuma as her inspiration. She was a maligned, yet famous artist known for her use of colors and dots, inspired by American trends. The first day we talked, I think I saw her hiding a dotted bracelet that made me want to know her. As we talked more, I found out that her parents had been fairly rich- they made money off the war, but when it ended, found themselves as destitute as those who worked under them before. As a result of her diet sharply changing from balanced meals to anxiously overeating cheap, unfilling, salt-rich foods to avoid hunger, she had a bit more love on her body than standard for someone in Japan at the time, and faced ridicule... even more so when people realized she used to be rich. It was her who changed my mind- I figured that, if I could offer something delicious and nutritious, at a reasonable price, I could bring a smile to her and many like her.

The elbow to the chest of a coworker snapped me back to reality. I couldn’t see who did it, and instead had to focus on bringing the box I was carrying to its destination: the shipping container. As I shoved it on top of the pile, I backed away slowly. My father’s words rang in my ears as the crate disappeared into a dark void.

“Son, food is something you eat to survive. You have it once, then forget about it- what’s the point in being extravagant for something like that?”

I hadn’t been able to argue then, but now I think I know the answer: a good meal brings people together, and it brings smiles to faces. Even if you forget the taste and the food is gone, its ability to keep everyone content and comfortable is worth something. So, if you’re going to serve someone, you should do it with love and care, not as a simple requirement to stay alive.

...it was with that motto that Mayumi and I opened the diner. I knew it would hurt our profit margins, but I didn’t care. I wanted to buy the freshest vegetables, the healthiest eggs, and the richest spices for our customers. Of course, I never rationed rice, either; making omurice, I was sure each was properly stuffed to the brim with the tastiest jasmine rice I could. It may have been simple, but I wanted to use my ability to put as much deliciousness in simplicity as I could. And, though it was little by little, my dedication paid off. Due partly to a good location, and partly due to the word of mouth spreading about our food, we managed to keep prices low while making a meager living. Still, as I think back on it, I was proud of every meal I cooked- seeing how the sometimes skeptical visitors’ faces would light up always put me in a good mood.

But it’s easy to mark the day that dream ended. After the chemical plant exploded, Mayumi couldn’t accept the diner shutting down. I tried to work enough to cover the cost of raising a child and the leftover diner payments, but it wasn’t enough- we both wanted Ota to be able to live free of worries, so Mayumi had to get a job, too. It broke my heart, but so long as we endured together, we knew we would make it.

Thinking of their faces makes my heart swell... sometimes I even feel a little dizzy. When I gaze at those happy faces in my mind’s eye, I know all the pain, all the fatigue, all of it is worth it. Having brought a smile to my wife, my son, and so many customers, I know it’s all worth it. We’re a family, and we’ll endure, no matter what. Looking up at the sun with sweat and a ghostly chill running down my spine, I go to grab another container, this time with a grin.


End file.
